


All Souls' Night

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Ghosts, HWD Secret Spectres, Halloween Gift Exchange, Religious Discussion, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: Whether it was just a dream, or the wind outside whistling, he could not tell.But Natalya’s voice echoed into his head, and the few words she had spoken.The room is not free. Ivan sleeps here.





	All Souls' Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hinotorihime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotorihime/gifts).



> Happy Halloween/Samhain everyone! For the Secret Spectres mod exchange I've had the honour to write for one of the most talented writers I know. I hope that you (and everyone else!) can enjoy this little self indulgent fic!  
> I used the prompt "ghosts", centered on Lithuania, Belarus and her relationship with her siblings.

It was after an hour of walking along the freezing path that Tolvydas noticed a light in the dark, and as he got closer, a sign at the crossroad.

The hut had a modest look to it, wood and bricks buried by a thick coat of snow.

Thrice he knocked, and a plump rosy-cheeked woman opened the door.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“I was told there would be an inn at this crossroad. Did the farmers speak the truth?” Tolvydas spoke softly, his breath forming clouds in his face.

“Yes,” she said with a smile, “sir, ‘tis the truth alright. You know hospitality laws?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you have coin?” 

“Yes. Three  ilgieji for three days _. _ ”

“Three grivĭna, yes,” she counted the silver bullets in her hand, “that shall suffice.Come right in.”

The warmth of the fire hit his face like a whip, making his blood rush to his cheeks. It felt good to have a shelter, at last. 

It was then that he saw her, and his eyes met hers, blue and cold as December dawn. 

 

The stew that the innkeeper served him was watery and the black bread was stale, but it was hot, and any hot food was good food when November was approaching— so closely following that Tolvydas could feel the gusts of his breath on the back of his neck. 

The innkeeper herself was a peppy, cheerful woman, prone to smiling and blushing. She told him that her name was Sofiya, and that she was new to the business. 

She did not speak of the young woman sitting in a corner of the room, staring at the two of them as she did some kind of needlework. 

“Tolvydas, was that your name? What brings you to a place like this?” 

He nodded as he quickly swallowed another bite of bread. “Pilgrimage”, he said, “I’m going south, towards the Mediterranean sea.”

“So far away! What miracles do you seek, to go on such a long journey by yourself?”

“No miracles, merely answers. Some voices came from the ships that pass our lands, of a monk who speaks to the animals, and blesses the stars as if they were Saints.”

She thought about it for a moment, and gave him a puzzled look. “Where did you say you come from, again?”

“Memel, on the sea at North.”

“The sea. Mhm. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you came all the way East in your descent. Wouldn’t it be quicker to pass through the kingdom of Poland for you?”

“It has to be Kievan Rus’. There’s a person I’m meeting on the way East, ma’am.”

“Oh, I see.” She gave him another wide smile, and asked if he wanted another slice of bread.  

But Tolvydas was full, and all he wanted now was a bed and some rest.

“We have only one room,” Sofiya told him, “you were lucky to find it free. Or, well, rather… not many people stop here, so you were lucky to find us!”

“The room,” a low and hoarse voice came from behind them, “is not free. Ivan sleeps there.”

 

It was the first time he’d heard her speak. There was something about her voice that reminded Tolvydas of wise crones, despite her young age— judging from her looks, she was almost of an age with him, approaching his twenty-fifth birthday. 

“ _ Natalya _ ,” Sofiya called her, and suddenly her voice didn’t sound so merry. “We’ve talked about this many times.”

“Do as you wish, but I will never accept this madness.”

“You call this  _ madness _ , when you’re the mad one here, miss! Go back to embroidering, and let our guest sleep.” Sofiya turned towards him again, and gave him an apologetic nod. “Forgive her, sir. My sister has lost her wits, and she doesn’t know what she’s saying anymore.”

However, Natalya didn’t seem mad to him; the feverish look on her face as she stabbed the roughspun fabric of her embroidery seemed more like anger than madness. Her hair, however, loose on her shoulders and messy, had a hint of silver that Sofiya’s braids did not have. Tolvydas knew that sometimes, ailments of a person’s mind could cause it to happen even in youth: but he decided to pay it no mind, and retire for the night into the inn’s only room.

The space was small, but comfortable enough, and the straw bed was better than the ground where he had slept for the past few days.

In the dark cloak of the night, though, he could feel a cold breeze behind his ears, short and irregular as someone’s choked breaths.

As if someone was sleeping behind him, or rather, whispering something.

Whether it was just a dream, or the wind outside whistling, he could not tell.

But Natalya’s voice echoed into his head, and the few words she had spoken. 

_ The room is not free. Ivan sleeps here.  _

_ And _ , his own fears added,  _ he’s right behind you. _

* * *

 

 

When Tolvydas woke up the following day, the sun was already high in the sky. During the night, he had hardly slept at all. His mind felt restless, and his thoughts raced anxiously from ear to ear. 

It didn't help that he found the inn deserted, and the kitchen empty. He thought that maybe, a walk outside might give him some quiet time alone. 

Instead, he found Natalya outside, sitting on a tree stump at the crossroad. 

 

Her pale face was one with the snow, her fierce blue eyes echoed the endless sky.

For a moment, Tolvydas thought that she was truly, incredibly beautiful, like a samowiła with no intention to leave the forest for the winter. Instead of flowers and feathers, however, her dress and cloak were made of wool.

_ No _ , he thought,  _ she's no viła; she's a queen of ice, one with the cold _ . 

Her hair and shawl fluttered in the wind, light as air itself.

Suddenly she heard his steps (or, he wondered, the deafening drum of his heartbeat) and she turned, her eyes fixed into his. 

“It was about time you woke up. My sister said there's no more food, so she went to the village to buy some.”

Tolvydas attempted a timid smile. “It is very kind of her.”

“Kind?” Natalya shrugged. “If we don't buy food, we will starve. All three of us.”

He supposed that was true. Natalya didn't seem mad, no— terribly blunt, though, for sure, in an almost queer manner. 

 

“Sit down next to me, would you?”

The invitation came unexpected, but Tolvydas silently obliged. 

“I've heard what you said yesterday,” she said, “about that holy man you want to meet in the South. If you're not seeking a miracle, why walk such a long path?”

He hesitated to answer her question. “A man who speaks to the wolves and birds,” he spoke slowly, measuring each word carefully, “is a man who speaks to the Gods.” 

She gave him a surprised look. “A pagan. I see.” Her reaction was better than he had hoped, all things considered. “So it's true what they say, about tribes of pagans in the North.”

“It’s not uncommon for my people to speak of this. Sometimes it's legends, sometimes it's true. There's a girl in Duoliebaičiai, a thirteen-year-old who whispers to stags and does… Still, the people speak of a Christian man. That's the answer I'm trying to seek. A common point… to placate the fights that plague my people.” 

She offered him an understanding half-smile in response. “You're a good man, Tolvydas.”

“You think so?” He chuckled, and the air around them seemed somehow less cold and harsh. It was then that they heard Sofiya’s steps in the snow, and the scent of fresh-baked bread on the way. 

“You both,” she yelled from the road when she saw them, “help me with the pots! We will have cabbage and onion for lunch!” 

Together with Natalya, he revived the embers and warmth of the kitchen. Outside, the air smelled like imminent rain and snow; inside, the scent of onion quickly filled the kitchen. 

 

Natalya had stopped speaking once again, alas. When Tolvydas and Sofiya spent their day talking and laughing, however, he noticed a different light in her eyes as she knit something. A glimpse of sun in a late winter sky.

* * *

 

 

That night, Natalya left the two of them alone in the kitchen to go to sleep early.

It was then that Tolvydas remembered the feelings of the night before, the cold whispers of the wind. A dark suspicion clouded his thoughts.

Outside, rain and snow had come, just as announced by the damp air of that morning, and the incessant beat of sleet was suffocated by the soft coat of snow, slowly covering everything. Every sound was muffled by the silence of winter, creeping closer and closer at the end of October. 

“Sofiya,” he said absent-mindedly, almost by instinct, “who is Ivan?”

The innkeeper almost dropped her cup of fennel infusion.

“Oh, dear.” She took a long sip, and stared at her cup for a few seconds. “Is this because of what Nata said? Pay her no mind, sir. I’m sorry for her… impoliteness. My sister has always had this kind of disposition.”

“No, no. No need to apologize. I’m sorry if I asked too much.” Tolvydas finished his own infusion, but he drank it too quickly, the boiling heat burned his throat and made him cough. “Forgive my curiosity, I didn’t mean any harm.”

Sofiya blessed him with a sad smile. “You are too kind, has anyone ever told you that? Ivan… he is our brother. _Was_. Six years younger than me, scarcely a year older than Natalya, but… you couldn’t tell, after he grew up, you see. He was so gracile when he was a child, but grew into a tall, strong man.”

“What happened to him?”

Sofiya’s silence made him wonder if he had dared too much. 

“He caught saints’ fire in last year’s fall, and… there was nothing we could do.” She sniffled to hold back her tears. “The way he kicked and screamed… he was not himself anymore. It was frightening. He’s resting in peace now, at last.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m fine,” she said with a forced smile, “but my sister isn’t quite the same anymore. It’s almost as if I lost both of them, somehow… ah, but I won’t bore you with my sad memories. Forgive me, sir.”

“You’re not boring me. Quite the opposite.” He coughed again, and poured himself another cup of infusion from the kettle. “I talked to miss Natalya this morning, and she didn’t seem odd as you are telling me.”  

“Not any more than she used to, no. She’s always been odd. Natalya… she really loved our brother. She knew it was hopeless, but she just would not give up. She spent every day and night next to him, and… she was bitten by fire too, and had the same fits and terrors. But she’s still here.” Sofiya paused for what seemed like an eternity. “She’s all family I have left.”

* * *

 

The evening’s dinner and talk were heavy on his stomach all night, and Tolvydas’ dreams were plagued by screams and shadows. Red, red, the world was tinted by a slick and sickening red veil, sheer silk wrapped around his head.

When he woke up in a cold sweat, he felt his skin burning and blood boiling. The feeble light of the moon made his skin glow in a pale blue reflection, and he saw no sores or wounds.

 

From the outside, he heard a woman weeping, and the cracking of a fire. 

 

The snow concealed the dull sound of his steps easily. Natalya stood in front of the flames, speaking to the smoke. 

 

“Ivan, do you realize how much I miss you?   
“How much we miss you?   
“Sofiya cannot handle this alone. I cannot handle it… I cannot handle it either.

“What, you say? You know what. Life. Life without you… 

“Will you come back, brother? Will you come back to us? To me?”

 

It was then that in a fever dream, Tolvydas heard the smoke whisper.

 

_ Natalya, you’ll be the one coming back to me one day. One day the fire will kiss you again; one day we’ll be together in death, you and I, and our sister too. All three of us.  _

 

“ _ You’re the fire, Ivan! _ ” Natalya’s voice resounded in the empty night sky. A loud thud boomed as she kicked a burning log. “Hurry up, and give it to me!”

 

_ You’re wrong,  _ Tolvydas thought,  _ he’s not fire, he’s smoke. Nothing but ashes. _

And as if his thoughts had become reality, the face and bust of a man came to life in the twirls and twists.

A handsome youth, with a strong nose and a stronger figure, left a gentle kiss on Natalya’s forehead and disappeared into the night, fluttering into the moonlight and stars in the ways only ghosts can do. He came with a whisper and went away leaving only a heavy, empty silence in his place. A silent tongue that only the dead can speak.

Natalya’s sobs only grew louder, her tears heavier. She fell to the ground—

 

—she was about to fall to the ground, when Tolvydas caught her in his arms. 

 

She looked so frail, Natalya, shivering in her thick, rough woolen shawl. 

However, one should not be deceived by her looks so easily: the flames in her eyes burned fiery and strong, her hollow cheeks were flushed with blood and rage. 

The fire she had lit had turned to embers, ashes, coal.

Tolvydas took her by the shoulders and walked her inside.

 

When the shaking had subsided, Tolvydas sat down with her by the fire. 

Natalya was still as a statue, unflinching. Her stillness, he could tell, hid the violence of storm and lightning under the surface.

He decided to break the ice. “I heard you weeping,” he said, “I got worried.”

“I heard you walking. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s no good to meddle?”

“It was never my intention.”

“Yet, you listened. Meddlesome, treacherous  _ heathen _ .”

“I couldn’t help it—”

“You could have turned away whenever.”

“And you could have died in the snow, if you had fainted, and I hadn’t been there.”

Natalya shrugged. “I wouldn’t have minded.” Her concern seemed to be another. “What did you see?”

Tolvydas didn’t know how to answer her question. “I saw a man… in the smoke. A face.”

The expression on Natalya’s face changed with the boldness of thunder. 

It was  _ fear  _ that he sensed in her eyes, now.  “You must promise me. You will tell  _ no one _ .”

_ Yet fear makes the rage in her gaze stronger, somehow. _ Tolvydas gave her a trembling nod. 

“Besides, you’re the one shaking like a leaf, now.” Her voice had a hint of irony in it. “Don’t tell me that the man who wishes to speak to animals is afraid of those who speak to souls? Those who depart are human, and speak the same tongue as the rest of us. Unlike birds.”

“I’m not afraid, but—”

“But?”

“ _ But _ , it’s the first time I see something like this. Someone with your gift. It’s not a common thing, for someone to transcend death...”

“You’ll find I am no common woman.” 

“Trust me,” he smiled, “I understood that from the start.”

 

He did not want to admit it, but he was, in fact, more than afraid. The thought of going back to the room that had been Ivan’s terrified him. 

Thankfully, Natalya seemed to have no intention to sleep, either. 

They sat down until dawn, talking slowly and quietly as the snow that had started falling outside once again. The sun rose as she does every day, from the beginning of time to the end of eternity. Natalya’s hair was a stream of pearls and peach velvet in the warm light, falling softly on her shoulders as she fell asleep in her chair.

Tolvydas carried her to the room that was her brother’s and tucked her into the blankets, and watched her sleep when his own eyes felt swollen and sore.

It was the first day of November, and the first time he had fallen in love.


End file.
